Star Fox: Advent Foxhole
by backpack bootswiper map
Summary: Forget the plot but pay careful attention to the lore. 18plus only.


\- - - - - Fox.  
\- - - - - Fox McCloud.  
\- - - - - Listen here, boy.

Eyes straining to force three ceilings together. Before that, you notice the headache.  
No. Not just a headache.  
A migraine of the gods. Thor's hammer pounding into your skull three times a second.

Who are you.  
\- - - - - Never mind that, boy. Not now. Not ever.  
Why does my head hurt?

There's a pause. A brief moment that feels like a trainwreck.  
Every moment feels like a trainwreck. But this one, you're lucid for. The ceilings become one.

\- - - - - Pain is now sexual. You like pain.  
Your nipples are tender. They ache and throb like water balloons at capacity.  
\- - - - - What?  
You're sorry. Did you say that out loud?  
\- - - - - Roll with that. Make bathroom.  
Make baaaaaaa... Build? Like with hammer.  
\- - - - - a sigh, a frustrated sigh. No, like. Make way. Bathroom.  
Make way to bathroom?  
\- - - - - Yes.  
Hold please.

You get up and when you do you see yourself in the mirror. You are beautiful and uncircumcised.  
Your Foxhood is erect, wanton. Must be all the pain. But what is this?  
Did you develop a horn in the night? Yes! A beautiful plastec horn with an aentaenae! You have become even more sexual, and this pleases you in ways that would horrify the ill advised.

Your nipples are like icecream, or more pedantically, the glass on the glass doors in the icecream section of the grocery store. The inside of them, you mean.  
How delightful! This is all sexual now!

You walk into the bathroom and locate a discarded towel on the floor of the bathroom.  
How dreadful. Towel: is not sexual.

How dreadful, you say. Towel: is not sexual.  
\- - - - - Citation needed.  
Towel: is dry. Towel: is bad in mouth. Bad mouth towel. Discrepencies, lement.  
\- - - - - Make wet.  
Execution?  
\- - - - - Make wet, more sexual. Wet is sexual.  
Confirmation. Wet is indeed sexual.

You pick up the towel and you put it in the sink under the faucet. You grab the bathroom hammer and you smash the faucet off the sink.  
Everything in the whole world is still dry. This is not sexual. You are being desexualized.

No!  
\- - - - - No what?  
I am being desexualized! There is no wet!  
\- - - - - No wet?  
Sink no make wet! I am being desexualized!  
\- - - - - Body make wet.  
You begin spitting on the towel! *toof toof* but it is taking a long time! *toof toof* to make it good and! *toof toof* wet. You are further desexualized. This is concerning! Very concerning!  
\- - - - - Body make peepee. Body make wet?  
Voice in my brain, what are you doing in my thoughts?  
\- - - - - I live here. Use body peepee to make wet. Towel: wet.  
Peepee too hard to make peepee.  
\- - - - - Are you not being desexualized? Add your filth.

Alarms go off in your head. You ARE being desexualized.  
This whole situation is unthinkable. But you're already here so you may as well roll with it.

You take the towel from the sink and put it in front of your desexualized Foxhood. Warm wet soaks the towel to make yumyum.  
You put the towel in your mouth. You smell and taste your own pee. Why would you do such a thing?

\- - - - - This is all very sexual.

The voice is correct! Your sexualization levels are rising instead of plummeting like it was doing when you were being desexualized! Balance has been restored!  
You are pleased as a toddler in the brief moment where the fork finally fits in the outlet before the storms arrive at its anatomy.  
This moment lasts longer than that moment, but is just as satisfying all the way through.

\- - - - - The contract has been sealed.

You aren't sure what the contract says and your lawyer was not present to explain it to you. You aren't sure if you have a lawyer, or what a lawyer is.  
This line of thinking is interrupted by a loud screeching screeching sound from the back of your head where your horn may have grown in recently. You would reach up and check, but the noise and vibrations are really discouraging your nerves from ever feeling normal again.

They do, but they are heavily discouraged. Heavily.

\- - - - - You lose time now okay?  
What?  
\- - - - - Bye bye. Say bye bye.  
Bye bye.

Your eyes open and your face is in your hands. You guess your eyes didn't actually open because your eyelids are not currently over your eyeballs.  
You look at your eyeballs in the mirror of vanity, sitting lazily in the black socket of your bloodied skull.  
Your face is attached to the torn apart back of your head. The ear skin tore off pretty clean on one side, but you tore up the other one. Still, you are impressed with your handiwork, given that you don't seem to have been exactly present for it.  
You wonder if this has contributed, and you desexualize by three percent. That's when you think of buttered corndogs, warm and moist, and sexualize by two percent.  
Chuggachugga positrain toot toot.

\- - - - - Your masterpiece is almost complete.

Your head turns but your eyeballs sit still, lazy and boring in the black black sockets of your slimy, sticky skull.  
You saw it in the mirror but only now does it become something that is real. It's a dog mannequin with large patches of your skin slapped on it.  
Held together with curdling blood.  
Now you understand. You understand what you were doing. You understand what must be done. But you have one question.

Why is it a dog mannequin.  
\- - - - - It is what they had and it is close enough.

You can't argue with that. Hell, you wouldn't want to.  
You awkwardly slide the deflated skin from your muzzle over the plastic dog's. The skin stretching, tearing a bit more, but ultimately holding true to its newer, unique fur.

\- - - - - The spray paint.  
\- - - - - The silver spray paint in the garage.  
\- - - - - Do it now.

The can is in your hands. You are rubbing it, amazed.

These time powers you gave me are amazing, voice in my brain.  
\- - - - - Call me Andro- uh. Andronald.  
Fox and Andronald! What a team we make.  
\- - - - - Now you understand.  
I do! I understand everything!

You are choking on the cloud of silver spray paint that fills the bathroom while you are making the can spray at your new friend.  
You vomit on your legs and feet, filtering it with the teeth on your skull and spraying it in all different directions. But you keep spraying.  
You decide you do not know everything, but you know how to make the silver come out of the can and onto your new friend.

But it's missing something. You stop spraying and attempt to cry but you no longer have tear ducts in your face. Or your face on your face.

This is a new level of comprehension and understanding.

The man behind the counter is screaming at you. Literally screaming at the sight of you. He is very terrified.

Do not worry, citizen, I am of a respectable class and species. My skin has merely been sacrificed for the life of my new best friend. I would like to purchase this eyepatch with Cornerian credits please!  
"Please don't hurt me!"  
Nonsense! I wouldn't hurt a fly that wasn't from Venom. I-  
\- - - - - He cannot understand you, boy.  
What? Why not?  
\- - - - - You do not have lips. Your words sound like a nightmare of wet nightmares. It is very sexual.  
"Tuh-take anything you want! Just go!"  
\- - - - - Take advantage of the fool. Free eyepatch.  
Now, Andronarnold. That's not a What Would James Do?. I'm a goddamn honest Cornerian. I aint no soulless Venom Vortex. I pay for mine.

The cashier flinches when you shake bloody credits at him. He doesn't seem to want them in his hand so you tear open the register and stuff them in there.  
The cashier seems to have vanished.

You're putting the eyepatch on your new best friend now. He can see you now.  
He is screaming, screaming in pain.  
It's okay, you tell him. Existence is painful.  
He is screaming still. Suffering louder and louder as he tears his manifestation apart by the fur and skin. Rending handfuls of bloody flesh and tossing them to their immediate down like a toddler throwing a goddamn tantrum in the grocery store.

Now this. THIS is sexual.  
This is hot and wet and stinky and smelly. And probably pretty painful. And as established by Andragnon and the limitations of your new understanding, all of these things are very sexual. You are feeling very sexual energy from your sexualization percentage number which in and of itself is very sexual. Perhaps the most sexual number of them all.

37% sexualized.

You are confused, however, by the nature of your emotions. This is your new best friend we're talking about. And you have suspicions that he may have had a hand in killing your father. You'll have to wait until his HP runs out before consulting Andranonian on the matter.  
\- - - - - What makes you think he had a hand in that? That's oddly specific. You're not doing all tinfoil hat on me, are you?  
You're definitely wearing a tinfoil hat, and the craftsmanship, if you do say so yourself, is absolutely brilliant.

Wait, did you do the timeskip thing again?  
\- - - - - You lost time, yes.  
I gotta get used to time travel, man, this is hard to keep up with.  
\- - - - - Not time travel. You lose time. Bye bye.  
What's the difference?  
\- - - - - The difference is that now you are holding a bloody spatula.

He is correct. You are holding a bloody spatula.

And Andrew, is that normal?  
\- - - - - What?  
Andrew, from Star Wolf. He's masturbating in my bathroom.  
\- - - - - He does that. What's Star Wolf?  
The gang of mercenaries my new best friend was in that colluded in the murder of my father.  
\- - - - - ...What?  
It's all a matter of time before they come for me.

You lied before about 37% sexualization being the most sexual number, didn't you? It was actually 39% sexualization this whole time. That's the most sexual number.  
And when you reach that number, that's when your nipples are teeming with life. That is when you tear them open and unleash a swarm of unfortunate bees into Andrew's unsuspecting face, as he is lost in the thralls masturbation. He is pounding the sexualization from his body like only an existentially caged monkey could. It is all very sexual as the storms arrive at his anatomy.

He is screaming. Suffering.  
These things are sexual.  
The words of your new best friend echoing at you through the barrier of the physical.

"WHAT. MAKES. THE. BEES. UNFORTUNATE."  
SOCIETY. MADE. THEM. THIS. WAY. THEY. WERE. BROUGHT. UP. IN. A. BAD. HIVE.  
"THEY. SHOULD. NOT. LET. THAT. DEFINE. THEM. THINK. OF. ALL. THE. THINGS. THEY. HAVE. ACCOMPLISHED."  
I. AM. A. BAD. MOTHER.  
"WHAT?" Wolf cannot hear you. Your new best friend is playing the harp.  
I. SAID. I. AM. A. BAD. MOTH-  
"I. CAN'T. HEAR. YOU." He is really playing the heck out of that harp. It's pretty loud.  
HOLD. ON.  
"WHAT."

You grab the bathroom hammer and you bring it down on your head. You find that takes the most HP, so it's an action you repeat.  
Once your health bar is depleted, you poof into hell. Wolf is there, playing the harp.

I. AM. A. BAD. MOTHER.  
"Jesus Christ, dude, you don't have to scream. I'm right here."  
Oh. Sorry. Hey, where'd you get that harp? Are those standard issue in hell, or...?  
"I found it in a pool of bloody filth," he says.  
I can tell, you say, it's very sexual.  
"Hey, look at this."

Your new best friend may have conspiracied your dad to death, but when he takes his penis out, you find it shocking.  
It's fleshy and furless. Bulbous. Shaped like a condom filled to capacity with rolled up pairs of socks in varying shapes and sizes. It's rather quite thick, and so solid you can't tell if it's hard or just massive and thick in its presentation.

You are bewildered and intrigued by the enormous value of this obscene creation. You could just stare into it forever.  
And what you see will change the world.


End file.
